


then, always

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 Season, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Light BDSM, M/M, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: Everything falls apart, and Evgeni falls in love.The 2018-2019 season.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 41
Kudos: 182
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	then, always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VelvetPaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetPaw/gifts).



> To VelvetPaw - you are such a creative force in fandom and there is such honesty to everything you write. I hope you enjoy my take on your prompts ❤️
> 
> I wrote this while listening to [Abel Korzeniowski‘s soundtrack for W.E.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFGMDQSHHhA&list=PL68C35061DAD71339) and thinking about Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese - and exchanging emails with my friend kat/titians/nantes. I couldn’t have done it without you - thank you ❤️

” _you can fuck / anyone–but with whom can you sit / in water?_ ” — Ilya Kaminsky.

_The past isn’t real. You remember it how you want to remember it._ — _Galveston_ , 2018, directed by Mélanie Laurent.

_In June [2019], Penguins general manager Jim Rutherford said only Crosby was untouchable in trade talks, a shot across Malkin’s bow, intended or not. Multiple team sources said Crosby, rarely one to involve himself in management matters, made it clear to the Penguins that Malkin should not be traded for any reason._

_“It’s me_ and _Geno,” Crosby said. — Rob Rossi_

The Penguins pre-season begins with a road trip.

The visitor locker room in the Keybank Arena in Buffalo smells of bleach and little else. Evgeni wrinkles his nose. There is noise and movement around him. There is a schedule. A game. A crowd soon to fill the empty seats. He manages the noise with headphones. He manages his team by leaving that task to Sidney. 

The new voices are muted by music. Then they go quiet as Sidney steps into the fray. With ease, the dynamic of the room shifts. Faces turn; eyes follow and focus on Sidney. 

It’s the start of a new season, but this is familiar.

In the end, Sidney is the last one to make it to the team box. Shedding his jacket, the cotton of his shirt is crisp against the curved line of his spine as he leans forward to get a better view of the ice. The best half of the roster is scratched tonight. It’s the preseason. These aren’t games that matter. But - 

The game. One goal short. It doesn’t matter, but it still gets under Evgeni’s skin. Away from the ice, he can only watch. The black of the puck, the chase of the game. There is a moment when his breath catches at Will O’Neil’s wrister. Neat as a trick, right through the traffic to the back of the goal net. 

“Fuck,” he hears Sidney say. 

Evgeni agrees.

Evgeni glances over and catches Sidney leaning forward. His mouth open. His hands loose by his side. No one appreciates good hockey like he does. 

Not good enough though. 

One short of a win.

On the flight to Detroit, Evgeni deals cards at the back of the plane. There is a lull. He’s lost his jacket and tie. There is a bottle of water tucked by his side. The plastic cap is unbroken. It’s not a long flight. Nonstop. It’s late enough that a few of the guys have drifted off to sleep. Evgeni can hear someone softly snoring. 

This isn’t new. It’s a two game road trip. They have fresh legs and Evgeni isn’t expecting to step on the ice until it’s for a game that actually counts. He wouldn’t even be travelling with the team if it wasn’t expected of him. The air he inhales is recycled. The scent of stale sweat sticks to him. Some of his teammates are wearing noise cancelling headphones. 

From a few rows in front, Evgeni listens to Sidney check in with Tristan Jarry. There is a tightness to his mouth. Games end, but some linger longer than others. 

Tristan came to the Penguins with a pedigree. Over the summer he signed a tidy two year deal. Maybe he might be worth it. He’s polite at least, and he nods in response to whatever Sidney tells him. Up the front of the plane, Sidney’s voice is too low to pick up on every word. But the tone carries. It’s a thread to knot around Evgeni’s fingers. It holds until it frays. When they land in Detroit, there is a click to Kris’ jaw when he yawns and Zach Austen Reece grabs Evgeni’s bag for him, only then to falter.

Maybe he’ll fetch Sidney’s. That’s something that Evgeni wants to see play out.

Another kid, another learning curve. It happens every year. 

(The hero worship always takes a little longer to wear off around Sidney than with Evgeni.)

The NHL has rules and guidelines for wolves under contract. Even after all these years, Evgeni can’t make sense of half of them. Often contradictory and inconsistently enforced, they function as a veil of respectability to the outside world and headache for those inside the sport.

Most of the league is wolf blood. Born or bitten. Some teams more than others. The Penguins only have a handful of humans. Less this season after Antti Niemi was placed on waivers at the end of the previous season. Evgeni liked him. But. Fins, though. There were always teething problems, even with Olli. 

Finland doesn’t hunt werewolves anymore, but their word for wolf is still ‘ _susi._ ’ A useless thing. It’s not much better than the by-name ‘ _hukka_.’ Perdition and annihilation in one; a thing killing more than it can eat. It makes sense that those terms are also synonyms for Russia. 

Wolf blood, Russian blood; it’s more or less the same thing. Except in the NHL. 

A wolf is a wolf is a wolf, apart from when it isn’t.

Evgeni knows better than most. Maybe that's the punchline of his career so far? Who knows.

Unlike Olli and Antti, at least Sidney grew up around wolves. Abet, Canadian ones.

Being around wolves is second nature to him. He might not be one, but he is one of them; a Penguin. It is in his blood as much as the wolf is in theirs. There were growing pains back in the early days, but he knew the basics long before he knew Evgeni. 

More times than not Sidney’s an intermediary between the team and management. It’s not unusual for him to speak for the league as a whole. He’s been the face of hockey since before he was drafted. He’s good at it. Everyone says that. He’s even managed to make Evgeni look toothless on certain occasions. 

They have it down pat. 

Evgeni is the Penguin’s Alpha. That’s unsaid. 

Sidney is the Penguin’s Captain. That’s common knowledge.

But it doesn’t stop people talking. 

It’s wet. That is Evgeni’s first conscious thought as he wakes with fallen leaves sticking to his skin.

“Morning,” Sidney says from above him.

He doesn’t hold out a hand but he does watch Evgeni roll to his feet. 

“Leaf,” he nods at Evgeni’s flanks.

Inside, Evgeni showers off the mud and debris under his nails; the back of his knees; the stretch of his abdominal muscles. The rot of autumn carries on his skin and his breath. The shampoo is the same sort stocked in the arena. Fragrance free. Neutral PH. Under the spray, Evgeni uses too much, scrubbing a handful through his hair. His fingers snag on knots as the lather of soap dissipates under the spray of water. 

It’s been a while since he woke up somewhere other than his own home. 

Sidney’s property backs onto the Sewickley reserve. After however many false starts, his house is more or less a home. Under Sidney’s roof, Evgeni knows his way around. There have been enough team events over the years. It hasn’t been too long since the training camp gathering. The common areas vaguely carry the scent of team. 

If he tries, he can probably retrace his own steps.

Closing his eyes, Evgeni tilts his head back and lets the water beat down on his face. Opening his mouth, Evgeni lets it fill with water. His throat feels raw when he swallows. The steam helps. The mirror above the sink is foggy with steam by the time Evgeni turns off the water and steps out of the shower. In it, he’s just a shape. A dark smudge of hair, a pale approximation of his face.

Inside the door, there is a set of neatly folded clothes. Soft jersey and fleece. The Penguins logo on the tag. New but pre-washed. Approximate size that mostly fits. Evgeni’s wrists and ankles are exposed. He’s taller than most of his teammates. 

“Expecting someone?” he asks Sidney, when Evgeni finds him.

“Not you.”

No. Not Evgeni. He’s never been a one of the rookies who end up on Sidney’s porch. 

Reaching out, he takes the mug of coffee from Sidney’s hands.

There is food. It’s provided on a white plate and presented to Evgeni on the kitchen counter. Eggs with rich yokes, and red meat. Not what Sidney eats, but it cuts through the ache a night of running leaves Evgeni with. 

“You might be on time to practice today,” Sidney comments as Evgeni eats. 

Bad joke. A familiar one. 

Evgeni ignores him.

Sidney makes himself another coffee.

(There is a spare set of his keys on Sidney’s ring of keys. Evgeni doesn’t remember when he gave them to Sidney, but they have never been used.)

They aren’t late to practice. 

They aren’t early either. 

Sidney drives and Evgeni listens with closed eyes. The beat of Sidney’s heart is easy enough to find. Steady and slow. Using it like a metronome, Evgeni counts backwards from a hundred. By the time he’s around halfway to zero, his breathing has settled and matches Sidney’s. There is a trick to it, but it’s easy now. Like the curve of the river they follow from the outskirts of the Sewickley reserve into the Penguin’s training compound. 

When he was a rookie, it felt like home away from home. It was Sidney’s too.

Every part of it is known; is his; is theirs. From the ice to the locker room, the forest of oak trees that circle the infrastructure. The sound of activity can be heard even from the parking lot. Inside the building the locker room is the source of most of it. 

Sidney slips unnoticed to his stall when they arrive. Evgeni doesn’t.

“G, hey G,” Connor Sheary calls out.

He’s more one of Sidney’s than Evgeni’s, but Connor’s got a mouth on him and a need to be heard.

Apparently he needs Evgeni to settle a point of argument with Jake Guentzel. Something completely petty about the fastest way to travel from the arena to that restaurant owned by a friend of a friend of Evgeni’s. It’s bullshit, honestly. It’s only a way for them to not so subtly announce they bought new cars during the summer. Only they are both wrong about taking the Liberty Tunnel, and Evgeni doesn’t hesitate to let them know why. 

After Connor, there is Phil who grins up at Evgeni from his stall next to Carl Hagelin’s. They have scores to settle and fines to pay. It’s shit to shoot while Evgeni strips out of his borrowed street clothes and into his practice uniform. It’s easier than the rest of the dues owed. 

This year there are a handful of new faces on the roster. Most know better by now, but not all. 

Training camp is usually a headache for Evgeni. It gets easier when the regular season starts and most of those faces are sent down to AHL to mature. The few that managed to make the roster this season glance over to Sidney every now and then to gage his reactions. Not that Sidney reacts. He’s already on his way to the ice, shaking his head at something Patric is saying. 

“You can’t tell me you’re serious,” Sidney says. 

Patric is nodding. “I tried the Bauer’s Vapor and compared to the Supreme 2S Pro’s the level of ankle support -” 

Evgeni tunes them out; they’re talking about changing skates. Patric found probably the only person outside of the Equipment staff willing to have an in depth conversation about that topic. 

It’s not like it used to be. Not when Sidney was a teenager with a freshly sown ‘C’ on his jersey and Evgeni was still getting used to the weight of the ‘A’ on his. Back then it wasn’t ever Sidney who players would go to. No one questioned his talent, but not many were particularly interested in his opinion. That didn’t change overnight after he accepted the Penguin’s captaincy. However now few can argue Sidney doesn’t deserve it. Less still can say he didn’t earn it multiple times over.

But that doesn’t stop them from saying it. 

Sidney’s place in the Penguins locker room isn’t the same as Evgeni’s. 

There is a difference between Sidney’s role on the team and Evgeni’s. There is also a difference between on the ice and off it. Sometimes. Not always. Not for him anyway. Evgeni isn’t interested in being a part of any pack. Or forming one. That is also unsaid. Yet each year he has the same conversations with the Penguins coaching and management team. 

This season the executive vice president and general manager of the Penguins, Jim Rutherford, has acquired his usual excess of Canadian wolves. Evgeni has also been given among other things another Finnish rookie to break in and a Czech wolf who has been bouncing around Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins for a while now. Dominik Simon has good taste in sticks and good instincts when he understands they are going to be teammates at best. Evgeni thinks Dominik might be the best of the bunch for those reasons alone.

At practice it is a gradual return to familiarity.

The ice. The exertion. The repetition of skill and skating drills.

Part way through, Evgeni skates to the side of the ice to distract Sergei Gonchar from his assistant coaching duties. 

“Listen to your coach,” Sergei reminds Evgeni when Mike Sullivan calls the team over. 

“I’d rather listen to you,” Evgeni tells him, enjoying the honesty speaking their native language allows. 

It makes Sergei laugh. “You’d rather listen to yourself.”

Among the bevy of trades and backroom signings during the off-season, one produced a fourth liner who was once Sidney’s teammate. Ancient history, but the West likes to dig up their dead. 

Jack Johnson is another one of the GM’s gambles. 

He comes to the team like a kicked dog. It’s been about a month since he arrived in Pittsburgh and he still can’t look Evgeni in the eye. But that doesn’t register. It’s not like Evgeni is bothered with him.

Word about the trade came second hand while Evgeni was in Russia. His agent mentioned it like it was something that mattered. They weren’t on the same line; it didn’t matter. His agent understood. Jack did too, after training camp. Since then he’s kept his distance, mostly keeping close to Sidney. 

They have history. That is what Kris said when they talked about it briefly.

Evgeni and Sidney have history too. A decade counting. Three cups so far, and counting.

The start of any season is a fresh slate. Every player goes into it thinking, maybe this year. Ask anyone. 

Apart from a wolf. No one is as superstitious as a wolf. 

(Or Sidney). 

Two months into the regular season, Sidney goes down in an away game against the New Jersey Devils. Hurt, but probably not too badly. A bad angle on a fall. 

Crap luck.

Evgeni doesn’t say that. He knows better. He cuffs Matt Murray on the back of the head when he opens his mouth. Maybe he’s a goalie, but he’s not a rookie anymore. He should know better. Don’t start talking about luck around wolves. Especially not on a night when the Penguin lost by two and Evgeni added to his penalty minutes. Two minutes in the box for hooking. Not as bad as Phil and his multiple roughing penalties, but Evgeni gets the lionshare of criticism in the locker room. 

Sixteen games into the season and they have only managed to string together a handful of wins. 

They need to step up. That is what Mike says in the locker room. He is looking at Evgeni. 

Evgeni already has a headache.

“No,” he says afterwards when Olli tries to talk to him in the showers.

“But I -”

“No.”

Olli might be one of Sidney’s favourites, but whatever he has to say can wait.

Kris speaks to him while they get changed. He’s about as good at it as Evgeni is, but the look in Olli’s eyes shifts. Someone needs to do something about that; he’s too easy to read. 

At some point Flower texts; Evgeni reads the message on his phone while the trainers are assessing Sidney. He doesn’t read the shit journalists report the following day when they are back home in Pittsburgh. It’s been a long time since people first wrote articles arguing that someone needed to bite him. There are still a few voices in the background arguing in favour of it. It’s old ground, but it still sells newspapers and fuels internet traffic.

Around the same time, Evgeni finds himself waking up on Sidney’s porch. This time his feet buried in the snow that’s turning into slush and his hair wet. It’s early still when Sidney nudges him awake with a crutch. 

“Making new habits?” he asks. 

“Coincidence,” Evgeni tells him with a yawn. 

That’s one way to put it. 

This time he drives Sidney to the arena.

They’re at the traffic lights when Evgeni feels Sidney looking at him. 

“You don’t need an invitation to come see me,” he says. 

It’s typical of him. Choosing his timing. Just when the lights are changing. Evgeni could look at him but he probably shouldn’t. It’s not like driving at home. Evgeni could also ignore Sidney. But when has he ever done that?

“Needed one before.”

But that’s a lie. They both know that. It’s shorthand. 

During the worst days of his concussion, Sidney hadn’t let anyone see him. Stupid. Like he’d read from the same shit playbook every human new to wolves seemed to have in their pocket. Never drop eye contact, never show your neck, never reveal weakness. As if hurt was something shameful and needing to be hid.

“That was before.”

Evgeni wants to react. Or he wants not to react. He can’t make up his mind.

“You have an invitation and you don’t come see me now,” Evgeni retorts. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sidney’s mouth twitch. Not a smile. But close to one. He’s looking at Evgeni. Straight on. All that media training. All those years of living and breathing alongside the wolves. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what lines to hold and which can blur - and he’s looking at Evgeni. 

“You don’t have to be a wolf to come to my door,” Sidney says.

And God -

Years ago, Evgeni remembers Jordy offering to bite Sidney during the worst period of his concussion. He wasn’t the only one. The answer was always the same. Stubborn Sidney. Everything he achieved, he earnt by himself. He fought for everything. Worked for everything. He had to do it all the hardest way possible, as if any other way wouldn’t count.

Evgeni was a teenager when he was given the bite. 

He was fifteen and short. Waiting for a growth spurt that didn’t feel like it was going to come until it did. When his brother Denis was bitten, he was fourteen. A whole year younger. It took well. Settling him. Evgeni didn’t think anything could settle the ache in his bones or the hunger he felt. Or the fury in him. Maybe that’s why he was one of the last of his age group in the Metallurg Magnitogorsk hockey school to be bitten.

It hurt. There was blood. There is always blood.

They play Tampa Bay next. Then the Senators. Home, away, home. More hours on a plane than anywhere else.

A shot. Two shots. An overtime loss. 

Again. 

With Sidney out, there are certain expectations. Mostly for Evgeni to step up. 

For as long as Mike has been the Penguins coach, he has always been the same when it comes to the wolves; he never drops eye contact. Never shows his neck. Never looks away first. Unflinchingly human in that way. Old school, too. It served him well while he was a player in the league and after two back to back championships with the Penguins, who would argue otherwise?

Only they are in their home arena playing the Sabres. They’re in the middle of a hot streak, but Evgeni knows the Penguins should have them cornered. They’ve had twice the amount of shots to their goal that Buffalo have managed. Yet the Sabres are climbing back. Inch by inch, and maybe they’re not getting into the goal zone like the Penguins are, but when the Sabres do they are making it count. They are chipping away at the Penguin’s lead and Connor Sheary is helping them do it. In the Sabres’ white and navy uniform, he lit up when he helped Casey Nelson score the last goal of the second period. 

Another brilliant trade decision. 

Seated by his stall, sweat is running down Evgeni’s back. His ribs are aching from being boarded by a twenty something year old d-man who had growled at him like it meant something. 

It’s intermission and his ears are ringing and Mike wants more. Mike wants results. Evgeni wants more minutes on the ice. 

Mike wants a pack. He says that. He says that in front of the team, in the locker room during the second intermission.

“I’m not seeing a pack out there.” 

And; 

“I haven’t seen one all season.”

No one is looking at Evgeni. No one is looking at Mike. 

By Evgeni’s side, he can feel Patrice glancing over at him. He’s always one of the first to break. Evgeni’s throat clicks. He swallows. 

Evgeni doesn’t look at anyone.

Pack. Pack. Pack. 

Everyone single coach Evgeni has had since he was a teenager with a freshly bandaged bite wound has wanted the same thing. 

Western coaches want it more. Mike never says it. But Evgeni knows. He won’t look at Mike, but he knows.

Everyone looks at Russian wolves and thinks of the great Red Army. 

The thing that North American’s don’t understand is the Red Army wasn't a team. They were a pack. A true pack. 

How many decades has it been and people are still hoping lightning strikes twice?

Then later; 

“Cut your teeth on this,” Mike yells into Evgeni's ear over the sound of the crowd roaring. “Prove to me you deserve more minutes.”

With his body anchored on the bench, Evgeni wants to win. 

(They don’t.)

Loss. Loss. Loss. 

Again. Again. Again.

This fucking season. It’s getting in his head.

Evgeni isn’t a good loser. 

He never has been.

It brings out the worst in him. Always has.

By the time Sidney is cleared to return to the ice, three games later, the Penguins are sitting last in the Eastern Conference with eighteen points on a 7-8-4 record.

The press interviews him about that in the locker room.

Mostly human, they circle him like sharks scenting blood in the water. The tick of their pulses pick up like clockwork. They should know better. Sometimes Evgeni thinks they don’t even try. 

Looking up at them from seated by his stall, Sidney does not react. His hands are loose by his side and his shoulders shifted back. Someone asks a question about the lacklustre performance at the Penguins last game. There is no hesitation. There is a ticking clock. Sidney’s time is always in demand. 

Sidney opens his mouth to speak, but Evgeni knows exactly what he’s going to say.

Evgeni doesn’t stick around to watch.

Sidney has a team. 

Evgeni has a pack. 

That’s the bottom line. 

That is also a lie.

This is what the world knows; everything. 

This is what is known; nothing. 

In Sidney’s first game back, he scores in the first period against the Stars and earns two assists before the second period is finished. 

It’s a bloody return to form and a decisive win. It’s enough to get the blood hot in the locker room.

Dallas isn’t a city that Evgeni knows 

Before the new Collective Bargaining Agreement between the NHLPA and the NHL was ratified in 2013, as the team captain it was Sidney who used to sign the team out on roadtrips. It never stopped being awkward and vaguely awful. On those nights Sidney usually nursed a beer while minding everyone's coats. Evgeni would sometimes catch sight of him yawning in between dancing and making out with anyone who caught his eye. 

This time around, Evgeni doesn’t need anyone's permission but he still finds himself sitting next to Sidney before the night is over.

“Just like old times,” Evgeni says, just to see Sidney turn to look at him.

That hasn’t changed either. Evgeni still will do just about anything to have Sidney focus on him and him alone. It was the two of them, back then. Bright and full of promise. It’s the two of them now. It’s Sidney with a bottle of beer he’s been nursing for the last hour and it’s Evgeni who put it in his hand. 

“The more things change…” Sidney agrees.

The steady beat of his heart. The green in his hazel eyes. The weight of his gaze on Evgeni.

There are things Evgeni doesn’t bother to think about. 

Sidney is the Penguin’s Captain, and Evgeni is their alpha. That has been long established.

Leaning back into the booth, Sidney’s eyes are dark and Evgeni feels his breath catch. 

Is the past a different country? How does Evgeni want to remember it? 

A decade and counting, that is what Evgeni has with Sidney. 

Three cups and counting, Evgeni and Sidney have that too. 

Is that how Evgeni wants to look back at his relationship with Sidney? How many years has it been? 

They play the Blue Jackets again in Columbus.

Around a week before, the Jim and the Penguins management traded Carl Hagelin for Tanner Pearson. It seems like a poor deal, but it’s not like they’re interested in listening to Evgeni. Currently they are trying Tanner out on Evgeni’s wing with Phil. Between Jim and Mike it feels like they are determined to try half the league out on Evgeni’s wing. Maybe Tanner will stick. He’s already become one of Sidney’s. 

Sidney is on fire.

It’s not a night for good hockey. It’s against the boards and bodies and traffic on the ice. But Sidney is getting the puck again and again. Getting it to Jake, to Kris, to anyone with a shot on goal. 

By the second period there is blood on Sidney’s face and he isn’t a wolf. He’s not. But he’s one of them. Evgeni feels it in the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs.

Evgeni doesn’t want a pack, but he has _this_ on the ice. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off Sidney. Not for a single second.

Afterwards the team goes out to another overly familiar club and Evgeni ends up leaning into Sidney’s space and buying him exactly the kind of beer he likes best. There is colour to Sidney’s face and they have won a game. Finally. They aren't playing well, but sometimes it’s not about that. 

“Going to thank me?” Evgeni asks, eyes drawn to the petal press of Sidney’s mouth as he takes his first sip from the bottle. 

He knows better than to ask.

Sidney’s never going to show his neck; never going to look away. 

Sidney is the Penguins captain and Evgeni is the Penguin’s Alpha. Evgeni should know this first and foremost, but he doesn’t.

Maybe the problem is they know each other too well. 

So few are left of that Penguin’s that Evgeni started playing with. Just Sidney and Kris. 

Kris wasn’t there for the beginning. Not even Evgeni was. 

It was Sidney first.

“Do you remember Sid when he was a rookie?” Evgeni wants to ask Flower, but ends up asking Sanja when the Capitals are in town. 

Sanja was there. His rookie season was Sidney’s.

Evgeni wasn’t. 

“Why?” Sanja asks. 

There is something indulgent to his voice that Evgeni doesn’t quite understand, but he’s never really understood Sanja.

What does Evgeni remember?

Sidney grew up around wolves, but he still had moments where he was so oblivious. There were endless locker room antics; pranks and jokes. There was Evgeni, doing just about anything to make Sidney laugh and honestly not needing to do much at all.

Evgeni has been having the conversation with the wrong people. He knows that. But it’s better than the alternative.

Wolves screw humans, they don’t mate with them. That’s the running joke. That’s the punchline.

That’s Sidney, set apart from the Penguins in the locker room. It doesn’t count - he doesn’t count. That’s unsaid. He’s the heart of the team. But they’re still telling the joke and laughing at it.

Wolves fuck humans, they don’t end up with them. It took heartbreak to make the lesson stick; Evgeni remembers seeing it and he still doesn’t know which wolf in the league broke Sidney’s heart but he knows someone did. Years ago, back when they were little more than kids. 

Wolves don’t take human mates, Sidney knows that as well as Evgeni does. That is unsaid. Or that doesn’t need to be said. It has been. A hundred thousand times over.

It’s all bullshit. 

Before Evgeni, Mario was the Penguin’s Alpha. He maintained the team pack for over two decades. Even after he retired, he was still the one who many of Evgeni’s teammates went to and ran with. Born of wolf blood, Mario had made a home in the city and was the one who saved the Penguins from bankruptcy and ruin, becoming a hero another time over to hockey fans. 

Before Sidney, there had only been one other human captain in the Penguin’s franchise history. Jaromir Jagr; and everyone knew how that turned out. It was Mario who had unconditionally supported Sidney’s captaincy in the early years. The same support was offered to Evgeni as Mario transitioned out of the formal role of team Alpha, leaving it to Evgeni. 

Over the years Evgeni thinks Mario hasn’t always approved of the choices Evgeni has made.

Under Mario’s leadership the team was the pack, and the pack was the team.

For most teams in the league, they see it the same way. That is what makes sense. Because packs win. Everyone accepts that as common knowledge. Packs put everything on the line. Packs are one. 

The hierarchy of Penguins management has always pushed for an integrated and in sync team. A pack. They also trade and sign players throughout the year. As if it’s that easy to slot wolves in and out of packs as it is to do with players on hockey teams. It’s not a formula. Evgeni can’t just make a pack at will. Throwing him together with dispert wolves hoping that somehow something will just click and Evgeni will claim them rarely works. 

Evgeni doesn’t want a pack. 

Maybe he’s never said it, but it’s not something he hides. 

He’s good enough that it doesn’t matter. He’s the best in the world. Jim and Mario and Mike and the board of management can keep trading and signing players - wolves. Evgeni doesn’t have to accept a single one of them into his pack and they can’t do a damn thing about it. 

Evgeni isn’t interested in being honest, but that’s not the point. 

He’s gotten used to doing exactly what he wants. 

There is a difference between him and other players. There is a difference between him and other wolves. 

And so at practice when Phil says, “You think you’re that good, huh?” 

And - 

He says it like a joke. Maybe it is to him. Maybe it is to the guys who laugh. 

But Evgeni is that good and he can do whatever he wants. Up to and including this. 

It’s Sidney who rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Going to do anything about it?” Evgeni asks, just to ask.

That’s enough. That’s all it takes. Sidney’s hair is mussed from pulling his jersey over his head. He hasn’t pulled it completely off; it’s a knot around his strong forearms and Evgeni exhales. Seated, Sidney looks up at Evgeni and something inside him ticks. This is it.

He doesn’t know what ‘it’ will be. Only he knows this is it. 

For a moment, Evgeni can only wait. 

Wait - 

“Leave it on the ice,” Sidney tells him. A warning. 

“You’re friends with Phil,” Mike reminds Evgeni. 

He’s said it before. 

So have other people. 

There is a difference between the people Evgeni is friends with, the people he works with, and the people who are part of his pack. It doesn’t always overlap or make sense, and it can't be forced.

Evgeni was friends with James Neal too. With Beau - with dozens of other players he’s been on the same roster as. That doesn’t make any of them _pack_. It’s not an equation. It’s not a case of two plus two. It doesn’t work like that. 

Phil is -

Phil is Evgeni’s friend, but he’s becoming fucking hard to be teammates with. 

Mike’s not making it any easier. 

“You need to get this squared away,” Mike tells Evgeni. 

His hand is on Evgeni’s shoulder. 

What he means is Evgeni needs to take care of his business and in the NHL _pack_ is a _product._ Everything can be bought and sold in the West. That is what Evgeni’s mother said the first time she came to America. Is Evgeni good value for money? Three cups and counting - but who cares about that?

In hockey there is always talk. 

It’s different when talk spreads outside of the locker room. 

Inch by inch. Minute to minute. One game at a time the Penguins pick up wins and points. They aren’t the last in their conference anymore, but when was that something to celebrate? Last year they were jostling for top ranking. The year before, they had it. This year they will be lucky if they make the playoffs. 

In the locker room Sidney looks each of them in the eye and he means it when he says they can do it. 

That they are doing it.

Evgeni isn’t though. 

That is the truth. He’s on the bench. 

He’s on the bench when the the Bruins pull their goalie in the final minutes of the game, when they are tied at one a piece. He’s watching as they are beaten in overtime. Then after the game he’s the one Phil is ignoring and Mike’s voice is in his ear. 

“Don’t,” Evgeni says when Sergei tries to talk to him. 

They’re friends. They’re family. They’re _pack_. 

But this isn’t about that. 

This is Mike wanting Evgeni to give him what he gave the Penguins when they won in ‘16 and ‘17. 

He says that. He’s looking at Evgeni like he wants an answer. 

Everyone wants an answer. 

Twice in the one week Sidney’s turns up to practice with one of his wingers dressed in borrowed sweats, looking young and vaguely embarrassed. Once Evgeni finds paw prints in the snow outside his house. It makes the hackles in the back of his neck go up.

Sergei tries to talk to him again. 

His jaw tight and his mouth hard. 

Is this part of his job now? Evgeni thinks he says that. 

He says a lot of things. 

The Penguins are winning. That should be enough. Only it isn’t. 

Sidney doesn’t get involved in wolf dynamics.

That is the unsaid rule in the locker room. 

But he will get involved when it’s Evgeni. 

“Going to fight me too?” Sidney says when they see each other in the weight room after hours. 

Evgeni isn’t sure what Sidney is seeing when he looks at him, but Sidney’s the only one who is looking at him.

This isn’t in public because Sidney doesn’t work like that. Not with Evgeni. Not with any of them.

“Going to talk sense into me?” Evgeni asks. 

Sidney shrugs. 

This isn’t Sidney’s job. He doesn’t get involved with this. Wolf business is Evgeni’s shit to deal with. 

“Coach send you?” Evgeni asks.

It’s an insult and he says it like one. But it rolls off Sidney’s back

“I don’t need to be told what to do.”

“And I do?”

There is a fist around Evgeni’s throat. Fingers tightening around his gullet. 

There is no chance any words will escape. English, Russian. Neither. 

“I’m not going to fight you,” Sidney says.

Taking a seat next to Evgeni on the ground, Sidney quietly watches him stretching out his legs. Evgeni’s calf muscles have been tightening up on him lately. His wolf blood means he can regrow teeth and his bones heal rapidly, but the ligaments and tendons of wolves tend to be more brittle than humans. There are always traces of scar tissue found in all wolves from a lifetime of shifting. More in born wolves than bitten ones, but still. 

As such, Evgeni’s training regiment is different to Sidney’s. There is more focus on strength and conditioning. Building resilience through flexibility and agility as their trainer, Mike Kedar, likes to call it. It comes naturally to Sidney; however as Evgeni has scared all his normal partners away, Sidney fills in, stretching his legs out in a wide V-shape with his knees facing straight up and soles of his sneakers touching Evgeni’s. 

There is such strength in Sidney’s hands when they grasp Evgeni’s.

Leaning into a fold forward stretch, the arch of Sidney’s back is an easy curve. The back of his neck is bare and his shoulders are pale. Breathing slow and deep, Evgeni focuses. 

“Slowly,” he reminds Sidney. 

Just because Sidney can do this easily, doesn’t mean he can’t hurt himself. 

When Sidney slowly unfurls his spine, he draws Evgeni forward into his space. Exhaling, Evgeni feels the pull in his hamstrings and hips as he leans forward and lengthens his spine. Holding the stretch, Evgeni closes his eyes. 

There is something in him that itches for a fight. It can’t be reasoned with. 

He’s never held his anger well.

At night he has been transforming; tearing up the carpet in his house and destroying anything he can get his teeth into if he isn’t outside in the Sewickley reserve or the artificial forest of the Penguins compound. Sergei has tried to join him. However everytime he did, Evgeni had outrun the smaller Tundra Wolf. Leaving him behind and disappearing into the underground.

Before. When times were good, there were pack hunts. 

Back in the beginning Sergei would take Evgeni to them; he’d insist they go to each and every one that he and the other team veterans organised. Everytime it was worth it. For a few hours everything was simple and easy. There were no language barriers, no cultural barriers; just snow under Evgeni’s paws and the scent of a rabbit or deer in the air. 

Over the years the pack hunts became team hunts. 

Flower organised most of them, bringing beer and food in ice boxes for afterwards. Sometimes Jordan would bring his brothers to run with them, when they were in town. It wasn’t unusual for former Penguins to be invited whenever they were on roadtrips with their current team. 

Evgeni attended a fair share of them, as was his right; occasionally bringing liquor and once or twice taking down another wolf for fun in the heart of the reserve. But that was a long time ago. 

(None of the wolves in the team have come close to Evgeni in weeks.)

The Penguins are on a winning streak for most of December until they are two down against the Flyers.

It’s a home game and the stadium is close to capacity.

Claude Giroux’s wrists have healed up since Sidney broke them and maybe Sidney scored the first goal of the game but Claude scored the goal that put them neck and neck. Then his teammates scored the following two.

The atmosphere in the locker room is rancid during intermission and Mike hasn’t even started to lay out the game plan for the final period. 

The sound of the crowd vibrates through the concrete, though Evgeni’s bones, but it’s whitenoise. 

Evgeni looks at Jack, who still can’t look him in the eye even after half a season, and he wants to say it. The words are in his mouth, right there. 

He doesn’t want Jack. He doesn’t want even half of the wolves who management had drafted or traded to put on this team. 

Jack is a nonentity. He is hardly heard in the locker room. If he’s anyones, he’s Sidney’s through default and every single wolf in the room knows it. At best, he’s Evgeni’s coworker.

For the first time in the entire season Evgeni looks at him dead on. 

Mike is talking. Then Sidney. Their voices wash over Evgeni, not touching him. All of his focus narrows to Jack; chest heaving and his sweaty hair pressed against his head in the imprint of his helmet lining. Number 73. Couldn’t even keep his original number he’d had with the Blue Jackets and the Kings. They were already taken. 

Slowly, as if outside himself, Evgeni watches Jack tense up. 

His shoulders hunch forward. A muscle in his neck jumps. 

Vaguely he feels the atmosphere around him shift. 

No one is looking at him. But every single wolf in the room is aware. Alert. Evgeni recognises that. 

If he wanted to, he could open his mouth. He could stand up and he could - 

There is a weight to Sidney’s gaze. A purpose. And Evgeni feels it on him suddenly. 

When Sidney was a teenager he used to watch Evgeni. He used to watch all of them; all of the wolves. He thought he was discreet about it, but it was obvious. Some of the guys used to play into it. For a solid week, Flower managed to convince Sidney that he had lice. That joke did backfire on him when a trainer overheard and they prescribed a special shampoo. 

It always felt like Sidney thought he could unravel them if only he observed them closely enough. Then it was something of a team joke, before later becoming something that was _theirs_. Now - 

Sidney’s breathing is even; steady. The white noise recedes and there Sidney’s heartbeat is. 

Evgeni can feel Sidney looking directly at him. He always can. 

And turning, Evgeni looks back at him. 

The Penguins management wants a pack. 

Players come and go, but management still wants a pack. 

The smartest thing they ever did was make Sidney the team Captain.

(Sidney has always been Evgeni’s Captain, but never _his._ )

(Evgeni doesn’t want a pack, but he does want Sidney. )

Intermission ends. The game ends in overtime. The Flyers win. The Penguins don’t. 

Evgeni turns up on Sidney’s door, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing - only in the locker room Sidney looked him in the eye and didn’t look away.

“You have a key,” Sidney says, when he finds Evgeni waiting for him. 

Illuminated by artificial light, his skin is almost transparent. His eyes are dark and there is no hesitation in his body when he steps past Evgeni to let them inside. 

Sidney’s home is dark. The windows gape black, swallowing the light and becoming mirrors. Everything around them is quiet. The only movement is Sidney as he takes off his gloves and coat. Methodical. Neat. Everything has a place in his home. Evgeni watches him and he’s waiting.

“Are you here to apologise?” Sidney asks, because he never makes it easy. Not for Evgeni. 

“No,” Evgeni tells him, because he doesn’t make it easy either. 

He doesn’t know why he is here. 

No. 

That is a lie. He does know why he is here. 

Sidney is watching him. They are circling each other. If Evgeni is a wolf, then he thinks Sidney is a lion. Terrible and triumphant about it. And he knows. He knows. 

When Sidney finally looks at Evgeni, Evgeni falls to his knees like a wolf. Like a tree being felled. 

He doesn’t break eye contact. He never does, and Sidney -

There is something about being the centre of Sidney’s attention. Evgeni has been greedy for it from the very beginning. From before the beginning, when they were teenagers on opposing teams and Sidney had no idea who Evgeni was. 

“I always knew who you were,” Sidney says.

The line of Evgeni’s jaw. The darkness of his eyes. And Sidney watching him. Unmoving. 

What will it take?

Action and reaction.

Yet Sidney is still. He doesn’t break eye contact either. 

Something shifts when Evgeni breaths his name. 

Then - 

Sidney hooks two fingers inside Evgeni’s mouth. Casually. Using them to open Evgeni’s mouth; to tilt his head. He’s lost and regrown a few teeth since the season began. These ones grew in straight this time. 

The taste of his fingertips on Evgeni’s tongue; the scent of his skin. Evgeni can hear his pulse. His breathing is hot, wet.

There is distant curiosity to Sidney’s expression. It is less distant when Evgeni unbuckles his belt.

Afterwards Sidney kisses Evgeni; his mouth soft and takes him to his bed. His hands gather Evgeni close and hold him when Evgeni’s breathing becomes shallow. 

“I know,” Sidney says, pressing the words into the skin of Evgeni’s neck. “I know.” 

Fractured open, Evgeni clings to Sidney and he doesn’t let go.

The thing humans often fail to understand is a wolf is a wolf even when they are in their human form. 

That’s a lie as much as it’s the truth. 

Everyone asked Sidney about being bitten. When he was new to the league, the questions were more linear. If he has been offered the bite, if he hasn’t been? If so and so offered, would he accept? Now with assumed answers to those questions, other questions are asked instead. Mostly - why? 

Evgeni doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t think it matters. 

Sidney is Sidney. 

He is human. Not a wolf. 

How would Evgeni court Sidney if he was a wolf? They’ve had front row seats over the years to dozens of examples. Kris and the way he would hunt Kath down, Jordan’s clumsy scent marking when he’d introduce Heather with a palm against the small of her back. Beau and Bortz chasing each other like puppies on the ice. 

But Sidney isn’t a wolf. 

Evgeni was human. Before. 

He wonders sometimes how accurate his memories are. How does he want to remember his past? 

Inside Sidney’s home, Evgeni knows he could shift into his wolf form. Sidney would be comfortable with it. After so many years, Evgeni knows this to be true. But he doesn’t. He kneels at Sidney’s feet and curls the soft human animal of his body around Sidney’s when they sleep. 

He can rest here. He can be human. 

The politics of the locker room, of being surrounded by wolves are stripped away. The tension in his back, his shoulders, eases. Puck of a cord, each one. Until this. The quiet. 

Sidney is human; he has no need for wolf politics. No jostling for position. No posturing. 

Neither does Evgeni, when they are together.

Towards the tail end of the season, Evgeni doesn’t wake up on Sidney’s doorstep (lately Evgeni has been waking in Sidney’s bed), but Sidney does turn up on his after they play the Bruins. There is colour to Sidney’s face and they have won a game.

Sidney smells of blood and sweat. Evgeni remembers that from seasons past. Blood on the ice. Teeth on the ice. What does he smell of now? Evgeni presses close and inhales. The heat of his skin; some kind of cologne. The taste of it rings metallic. Too many post-game interviews with and around humans. 

“Make nice?” Evgeni asks him. 

Sidney’s mouth doesn’t soften, but it does relent. 

Sidney doesn’t give an inch. Evgeni knows this. He’s the same.

And Evgeni knows - 

He’s come so far and he’s back at the same place. 

For the longest time, he kept looking for a Russian wolf. Someone who understood him. But Sidney already understood him. The knowledge had been hard won. It hadn’t been bloodless. With clear eyes, Sidney understands both sides, all sides; human and wolf, and the mix he was on the ice. And had done for many years.

Of course they ended up here.

Of course Evgeni ended up here, with Sidney.

Of course Sidney ended up here, on Evgeni’s door and using the key Evgeni gave him so long ago.

He wonders if Sidney will ever ask. He wonders if he will ever be able to say, yes, he does remember being human and he feels it when they are together.

How do you look back at the past? Evgeni doesn’t know. How does he want to look back at it? Maybe that is the better question. Or at least, one he can attempt to answer. 

It’s been a decade. Near enough. 

And damn if Evgeni can’t still clearly remember looking up at the Stanley Cup Championship posters of Mario and Jaromir and wanting that. Wanting that for him and Sidney. And being stupid enough to say that aloud to a journalist. 

What is there to look back on this year? He can hardly stand to watch game tape during a hot streak.

He can’t say anything to Sidney. Not now. 

“I don’t need you to make us into a pack,” Sidney says. 

He is waiting for Evgeni by his car in the parking lot. 

He’s looking at Evgeni. Not away for him. Never away from him. 

This isn’t a conversation to have here. Not when anyone could hear them. 

They’re losing. Everything is falling apart. Evgeni hasn’t played a full twenty minutes for weeks. Mike wants results; he wants Evgeni to get his shit together; he wants Evgeni to pull the wolves in line; he wants a pack leader and a Stanley Cup worthy player. Who knows if they’ll even make the playoffs.

“We’re a team,” Sidney tells Evgeni. 

Sidney isn’t in his uniform. He isn’t even wearing Penguin’s branded gear. But he’s the heart of them. From day one, he was the heart of them.

Maybe this isn’t their season, but right now - right then - Evgeni knows it isn’t about that. It is the straw that breaks and remakes him. 

Much later, Evgeni thinks, Sidney wanted people to hear their conversation. 

There is purpose to Sidney. 

And this is how he loves; in declarations said in a parking lot that only a wolf would understand the meaning of, in the hands that sweep back snow from Evgeni's skin, and Evgeni meets his gaze. No one knows him better. No one loves him better. 

  
  


_2020 Offseason: A postscript._

“ _It’s me and Geno_ ,” Evgeni quotes Sidney’s words back to him. 

Sidney doesn’t look away.

Four words. A declaration everyone understands.

**Author's Note:**

> Find/follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pr-scatterbrain.tumblr.com) if you want <3


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